


What’s Left Behind

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-19
Updated: 2003-08-19
Packaged: 2018-10-06 13:06:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10335365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: SPOILERS : Season Two, GamekeeperSUMMARY : Daniel makes a trip to the New York Museum of Art





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

What's Left Behind

******* 

Thursday was field trip day for schools in New York City. By mid-morning, the New York Museum of Art had already welcomed six bus loads of children who displayed varying degrees of interest as they trailed their tour guides through the museum. Large numbers of tourists had found their way to the museum as well, courtesy of rainy weather that kept them from outdoor pursuits. None of these people took any particular notice of the casually dressed young man whose reluctant steps led him toward the Ancient Egyptian exhibit hall. Daniel Jackson was alone with the tension knotting in his stomach and spreading to his chest. 

The wide double doors of the exhibit hall stood open, inviting visitors inside, but Daniel stopped short of them. Walking through them required a resolve he still wasn't sure he possessed. Just weeks earlier - on the Keeper's planet - he told Sam that he had been here many times, but all those visits were _before_. He had never come here after the day his parents died. The New York Museum of Art was a place Daniel visited only in his nightmares. 

Until today. 

A rueful smile found its way to Daniel's lips as he stepped into the exhibit hall; it smelled just as he remembered - the scent of freshly waxed floors and wood polish not quite overcoming the choke of ancient desert dust. He wandered the perimeter of the room focusing on the artifact displays, deliberately avoiding the room's primary exhibit. He would have to look sometime, but not yet. The display cases along the walls held the expected jewelry and pottery shards, the occasional stone carving of an Egyptian god. Daniel recognized some of the more notable pieces from texts and illustrations he had come across in his studies. His examination of a stone cartouche bearing Isis's name was interrupted by the entrance of a school group. He listened in as their guide explained the hieroglyphic exhibit, impressed with her simple but accurate answers to the children's questions. After several minutes, they moved on. Daniel realized he had circled the entire room. There was nothing left to do but turn around and face it. 

The temple dominated the room. Its pillars rose nearly twelve feet in the air and huge stone blocks formed walls that seemed to encroach on space designated for other exhibits. Still, it appeared smaller than Daniel expected. In his memory it always looked mammoth crashing down, shaking the floor so violently that he feared the whole museum would collapse. Much of the temple survived undamaged, but large cracks ravaged the front pillars, witness to painstaking salvage and restoration work after the accident. Daniel knew that the coverstone which now rested atop the pillars was a lightweight replica of the one his parents had been positioning. Slowly he raised his eyes to look at it, then slammed them shut with a gasp as unexpected memory assaulted him - the sound of a chain snapping, the heavy rattle as it snaked too fast through the pulleys, his father's shout, his mother's scream, his own piercing wail as the roar of crashing stone filled the air. An eternity passed as Daniel gulped in deep breaths to control the nausea washing over him. When he finally opened his eyes the temple stood intact, the noise was gone and all Daniel heard were the muted conversations one encounters only in museums and libraries. It was a familiar silence and Daniel remained still, letting it calm him. 

Eventually his heart rate slowed to something approaching normal. With another deep breath he moved toward one of the decorative pillars that stood several yards outside the perimeter of the temple. Other memories formed as he reached out to touch the hieroglyphic symbols. Basking in the glow of his father's attention as Daddy bent low next to him and showed him the symbols for "honor." His own solemn, little boy promise to memorize the symbols while his parents worked. Daniel had been concentrating hard on the very last symbol when he heard the chain snap. Daniel scanned the pillar now, looking for the series of glyphs he remembered. He found it only after crouching down, the way his father had, to the eye level of an eight year old. With one finger he traced the figures slowly, hearing his father's patient voice explain the significance of each one. When he completed the final one, he pressed the palm of his hand over it. Resting his forehead against the cool stone, he let the threatening tears spill silently onto his cheeks. 

"Sir?" The woman's voice coming from above him sounded slightly anxious. "Are you all right? Can I help you?" 

Daniel turned his head without lifting it from the pillar. The voice belonged to a young woman dressed in the navy suit of a museum staff member. She peered down at him, worry creasing her brow. 

"No thank you," Daniel managed to whisper. 

"Are you certain? If you need a doctor . . ." her voice trailed off in a question. 

Before Daniel could decline her offer of help, someone behind him spoke. 

"That won't be necessary, thanks," said a voice as familiar as the presence Daniel now sensed at his side. He didn't even have to lift his head to know that Jack O'Neill was kneeling next to him. Exactly how and why Jack had appeared wasn't quite clear to Daniel. 

"Jack? What are you doing here?" 

"I followed you." 

"From Colorado?" 

Jack grinned. "Oh you know, Black Ops." 

"But why?" 

Jack's smile dimmed. 

"Something's been eating at you for a while now. Then when Hammond gave us down time you hightailed it out of town without so much as a word to anybody. Even for you that's a pretty extreme method of keeping your friends at a distance. I got worried." 

/ I got worried. / Daniel let the words settle over him and indulged in the welcome feel of Jack's presence, his steady hand on Daniel's shoulder. Daniel's experience on the Keeper's planet convinced him this trip was long past due. He desperately wanted the support and comfort of his friends, but the pain of his parents' death was so excruciatingly personal and seared so deep in his soul that he simply hadn't been able to talk about it or ask for help. 

But his friends - or at least one of them - heard what he hadn't been able to say and came after him. 

"Thank you." 

******* 

Jack wasn't surprised when Daniel's destination turned out to be the New York Museum of Art. His friend's recent withdrawal coincided with the team's visit to P7J-989 and its virtual reality system. Jack kept his distance as he trailed Daniel into the museum. He hesitated to reveal his presence even when it was obvious Daniel was struggling with his memories. Only when a well-intentioned staff member intruded on Daniel's privacy did Jack step forward to provide a buffer for his friend. Now, with Daniel's whispered "thank you," Jack relaxed. Whatever Daniel needed to do, he seemed grateful to have Jack nearby. Daniel's thumb absently rubbed at a carving on the stone pillar and Jack gently lifted his hand away to reveal the glyph beneath it. 

"It means 'honor'," Daniel explained. "I was standing here when it happened." He looked up at the temple and pointed between two pillars. "My parents were standing right through there." 

Jack followed Daniel as he stood and approached the temple. Just beyond the cordon of velvet ropes surrounding the structure, in the open area under the coverstone, stood a stone pedestal about three feet high topped with a bronze plaque. The writing emblazoned on it was just visible from outside the barrier. 

// In Memory. Melbourne Jackson and Claire Ballard Jackson. 1973 // 

Without a word Jack unhooked a length of the rope from its stanchion. A light touch on Daniel's back moved him past the boundary to stand beside the pedestal. As Jack had known he would, Daniel fingered the lettering on the plaque. 

"I didn't know this was here." Daniel's voice still hadn't risen above a whisper. 

"This is the first time you've been back?" Daniel nodded. "Long time to wait." 

Daniel shrugged. "My foster parents never brought me - not that I remember asking to come. When I was older there were other obstacles - not enough money for the trip, not enough time . . . mostly, not enough courage." 

"Excuse me gentlemen, but visitors are not allowed beyond the ropes." 

Jack turned to see an older gentleman who met Jack's eyes with polite, but self-assured authority. There was none of the hesitancy exhibited by young woman who earlier had been uncertain how to approach Daniel. The man's dark well-tailored suit wasn't the "uniform" worn by other museum staff; he didn't need one to convey his message. Jack knew Air Force officers like that - men who didn't need their dress blues or even their BDUs to put the fear of God in subordinates. It was all in their carriage and tone of voice. Jack had no desire to create a scene when Daniel so obviously needed calm and quiet. He nodded his acknowledgment of the man's request, stepped back, and with a gentle tug at Daniel's sleeve encouraged him to do the same. He was surprised to catch the glimmer of a smile on Daniel's face. Slowly, his friend turned to face the man who had spoken to them. 

"Hello, Fritz." 

If Jack hadn't been so surprised he would have been amused by the man's sudden loss of aplomb. He looked as confused as Jack felt, but after a moment's long stare at Daniel, the man's eyes widened and his mouth formed that "o" of recognition people get when a light goes on in their brain. 

"Danny Jackson? Young Daniel?" When Daniel nodded, the man shook his head in disbelief. "Good lord, I can hardly believe it. You should have come to me - " He gestured vaguely around the room. "We could have closed the hall, given you some time . . ." 

No. It's all right. This is fine, Fritz. Jack, this is Fritz Hamlin. Fritz is the - you're the Museum Curator now, aren't you?" Hamlin confirmed this with a nod. "Fritz was curator of the Egyptian Exhibit when my parents were erecting the temple. He had a lot of patience for a very curious eight year old who was everywhere but where he should have been." 

"Some things never change," Jack teased and offered the other man his hand. "Jack O'Neill. Daniel and I work together." 

Hamlin accepted Jack's outstretched hand and then addressed Daniel again. "It's good to see you, Daniel. I've often wondered if you would ever return. People ask about you." 

"Excuse me?" Daniel's voice almost squeaked with surprise. 

Hamlin waved to a display case lodged along one side of the temple. "There are news clippings about the accident. They mention the Jacksons' young son who witnessed the tragedy. Visitors read them. They seek out the staff. They ask. 'Whatever happened to the boy?' they want to know." 

There was a beat of silence before Daniel responded. 

"He grew up." 

End of conversation. Jack recognized that tone. It wasn't a rejection of Fritz, but it clearly closed the door on hundreds of curious strangers laying morbid claim to a little boy whose pain they could never begin to comprehend. Fritz accepted Daniel's answer with a silent nod. Then with a light touch on Daniel's arm he turned to go. "Take your time here, Daniel." 

Jack didn't think Daniel noticed that as Fritz took his leave he quietly ushered other museum visitors toward the exhibit hall exit. A few moments later Jack heard the snick of door latches and he and Daniel were alone in the hall. Daniel didn't speak for a long time. He moved slowly around the temple, climbing its front stairs, standing briefly in the dark entrance, trailing his hands over the stones. Finally he came back to the memorial pedestal where Jack waited. 

"What?" Jack asked. 

"This was my parents' life work, Jack. They spent their lives searching for a find like this one, unearthing it, studying it, bringing it here. They died here - and all that's left of them are some news articles and a bronze plaque." 

Jack's heart ached at the hopeless dejection etched on Daniel's face. The lost, frightened little boy who must have stood here thirty years ago was now a grown man despairing right down to his soul that there was nothing to show for all his pain. Nothing but newspapers and plaques. 

"And you." 

Daniel blinked at him, tears escaping down his cheeks. 

"What?" 

"Daniel, _you_ are their life's work. All this stuff," Jack waved his hands at the temple and its exhibits, "really _is_ just a bunch of rocks, Daniel. But _you_ \- grown up, obscenely intelligent, insatiably curious, intuitive Daniel Jackson who opened the Stargate and save the world on a regular basis - _you_ are the living testament to everything your parents ever worked for. I'm not saying that what happened here thirty years ago didn't drastically affect the course of your life. But I don't think you became the man who opened the 'Gate because you watched your parents die in this room. You became that man because they _lived_ first, and in the time you had together they poured everything that was important to them right into you. From where I'm standing that's quite a legacy to leave behind." 

Daniel blinked again. "Wow, Jack. That was quite a speech." 

Jack shrugged. "I have my moments. Spur of the moment too - not rehearsed at all." 

"Yeah, I got that." 

"So?" 

Daniel turned in place, taking in the temple, the pillars, all the paraphernalia around the room. When he completed the circuit and faced Jack again the hopeless pallor had left his face. 

"This place is always going to be in my nightmares. I don't think I'll ever see it as anything but a pile of rubble. But you're right. My parents didn't make me who I am by dying. They made me who I am by living." 

Jack threw an arm around Daniel's shoulder. "My point exactly." 

He waited as Daniel looked one last time at the memorial and then guided him toward the door. 

"So, gave Fritz a hard time did you?" 

"Yeah, I guess so." 

"We should take him to lunch. He and I can compare notes." 

Daniel rolled his eyes and led the way out.

**The End**

  


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> AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic was inspired by Sue Barrett's fic "Anniversary" which you can read at Stargatefan. Her fic got my creative juices flowing and she was gracious enough to let me borrow both the concept and a couple of elements from her story.

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> © January 6th, 2003 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp.  
> The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters  
> who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names,   
> titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.   
> 

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